


Nodus Tollens

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: 'How they got together' fic, Adult Content, Drug Use, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, The one where Arthur has kind of wanted Eames forever but also is a repressed baby, reference to past animal death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8885263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: "Come on, Eames. Be a sport, would you?" she wheedled, following him through the door with a needle of purple and gold-flecked compound twirling innocently between her fingers. "This needs to be tested before our mark gets the stick and I'm flat out of volunteers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own "Inception." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: This is kind of ridiculous but got kind of serious and honestly I was doing something completely different when this story started so honestly I am as confused as you are, really. This is also my first work in the fandom and I only just ended up watching the movie a week ago so don't mind me trailing in absolutely YEARS late or anything.
> 
> Disclaimer:kind of a – 'how they got together' fic as it is my understanding of the characters at this point that Arthur is more or less pretty buttoned up and probably stews up a crockpot in UST until he finally decides to do something about his feelings type of person. Adult language, inappropriate public boners, nudity.

"I don't dabble in experimentals, darling," Eames stated dismissively. Introducing both him and Ariadne to a conversation already in full swing as Olivia, their latest stand-in chemist, trotted close at the forger's heels. She was here on the understanding that it was a temporary position – at least until Yusef stopped ignoring them. Punishing them for the mess they'd gotten him into last time despite earning a coveted double share. "No matter how lovely they're packaged."

"Come on, Eames. Be a sport, would you?" she wheedled, following him through the door with a needle of purple and gold-flecked compound twirling innocently between her fingers. "This needs to be tested before our mark gets the stick and I'm flat out of volunteers."

He turned in his chair to watch the exchange. Straightening the sleeves of his dress shirt as Eames leaned up against the nearest wall, arms crossed. The man's posture was defensive and firm, but with a tell-tale looseness that suggested he wasn't completely opposed to the idea.

He snorted internally, but no less indelicately in the privacy of his own thoughts. Allowing himself the lapse on account of good behavior – most notably shown by not strangling their forger and burying him in a ditch somewhere years ago as Eames eyed the compound thoughtfully. It was the reckless, adrenaline-seeking part of him, no doubt. The part that just couldn't help but fall arse first into trouble the moment things started getting predictable.

And naturally, being as good as she was, Olivia noticed and promptly pounced on it.

"It's completely safe, love. Our mark has that heart condition- I had to come up with a brand new compound so there weren't any complications with his medications. But I need to make sure the kinks are all worked out before we get the show rolling. Ariadne has a cold so she's out and Arthur is-"

"Busy," he broke in, quickly. Letting his hand sweep across his desk as if to confirm the veracity of the statement. Having no real desire to have some untested compound put him on his back for the next few hours when he had a desk full of research to get through.

Saito had been more than generous in the aftermath of the Fischer job. Even going so far as to pass on references where he saw fit. But he knew they couldn't rely on the businessman's generosity forever. Nor would he want too. Saito was no longer the enemy, but neither was he a particular friend either. They had to start building their own resume, especially after Cobb's retirement. And considering he preferred not mix work and pleasure whenever possible, distancing themselves from the Fischer job and all it's entanglements only made sense.

Eames' eyebrows edged up a couple notches.

"And I'm just teeming with free time, hmm?"

"You are today," he replied, ignoring the death-glare the man shot him in favor of sending Olivia an open, commiserating smile. Just enough to give the impression of sharing confidences as the woman smiled delightedly. "You told me this morning you had everything wrapped up on your end, Mr. Eames. At least until we figure out how many levels Mr. Yellon is going to require to get what we need. So, as I understand it, your afternoon is free."

"Thank you, Arthur. So helpful," Eames snipped, mostly without heat. Looking slightly put out before something else caught his interest and he was spinning away again, just like he always did. Never serious. Always light. And absolutely _infuriating_. The terrible part was that he loved him for it. Which was awkward considering he'd decided to keep the man at a safe distance a long time ago. Preferably leashed with a muzzle for good measure.

It was all terribly inconvenient.

By the time Eames turned his attention back the matter at hand he was ready for him. Staring back impassively, completely straight faced. Not allowing a drop of the almost giddy, adolescence glee he felt at getting one over him show as Eames let out a dramatic sigh and gave in.

"Fine, but I'll have you know this is workplace coercion and I'm reporting you lot to HR immediately."

"We don't have an HR department," Ariadne pointed out. Daubing underneath her nose self-consciously before tucking her chin back into the depths of her sweater to sniffle in relative safety. "Besides, if we did, it would probably be Arthur anyway."

"See! What did I tell you? The chips have been stacked against me from the beginning!" Eames crowed, apparently deciding to stick with extreme volume over any real protest as he continued on with a litany of complaints as Olivia bullied him into a chair next to the PASIV and started readying the dose.

* * *

Eames hadn't been under for more than three minutes when Ariadne let go of a strangled sound. It was more of a plugged up, girlish-squeak than anything. But it was enough to pull his attention away from his paperwork and over to where the two women were sitting – checking Eames' vitals.

And, _oh-_

Well, then.

A surprisingly damning flush stole across his cheeks when he wandered over and caught sight of Eames' current... _predicament_. Unsettled by the strength of his reaction but also finding himself with a sudden wealth of excuses why he should linger. Worse, the pad-locked box in the back of his mind neatly labelled _'Eames'_ \- the one he'd already decided was not to be opened under any circumstances – was already trying to inch it's way off the shelf of self-imposed seclusion he'd placed it on. Clearly eager to be set free. Which apparently seemed to be a running theme if Eames' privates had anything to say on the matter.

He swallowed. Hard.

"Ah- whoops," Ariadne colored, looking away quickly but not without a grin as the forger's cock firmed up against the snug line of his truly awful trousers.

"Looks like _someone_ is enjoying himself," Olivia hummed saucily. Giving the unconscious forger a overly drawn out - in his opinion - once over, before leaning back in her chair with a self-satisfied expression. Something that had to be, at the very least, a serious breach of medical ethics. If not the building blocks of a sexual harassment case.

Not that Eames would mind.

The absolute flirt that he was.

"Isn't that unusual?" he asked, coming around to Eames other side. The one that showed the brunt of the lax, sleep-soft expression which was actually rather distracting in its own right. Priding himself on how level the words sounded as Eames slept on. Somehow managing to be just as much of a problem asleep than he was awake. "Having a reaction like that?"

"Strictly speaking, yes," Olivia answered. Adjusting her glasses as she leaned over and checked the monitor for good measure. Ignoring the normal pace of it's beeping in favor of capturing his wrist to count it out for herself. "But this compound _is_ a bit unorthodox. The list of prescriptions that old coot takes in the morning alone was hard enough to work around - not to mention his evening rotation. Finding something that wouldn't compromise the effectiveness of his medications was difficult. So- honestly, I'm not surprised we're seeing some unusual reactions."

He kept the rest of his thoughts to himself as the minutes ticked passed. Disliking the feeling of the variables being outside his control. He wasn't like Eames. He didn't thrive in chaos. His backup plans had secondary measures of their own and often third and forth versions of the same. Eames flew by the seat of his pants and made no excuse for it.

Which, naturally, ended them right where they were.

Smack daub in the middle of things without a clue as to why.

But it wasn't until Eames' eyes fluttered open - pupil-dark and impossibly relaxed - that he realized it was far, far worse than that.

* * *

"How was it?" Ariadne asked. One hand hovering over his shoulder - just in case. The crinkled wisp of a used kleenex stuffed up her sleeve as Olivia unhooked him from the PASIV.

All of them somewhat at a loss when Eames remained supine across the padded chair. Forgoing his usual habit of rabbiting almost immediately. Eager to be moving about and generally back to being a nuisance in less time than everyone combined. Instead, this time Eames seemed content with stretching out slowly, _indulgently_. Like every movement was stuck in molasses as Olivia took full advantage. Performing a few quick tests with his blood pressure and reflexes as the man blinked sleepily.

"Bit of a let down, honestly," Eames murmured softly. Expression noticeably brightening when he caught sight of him looming off to the side. Apparently neither noticing or caring that his cock was still hard and straining against his zipper.

"It was purple. I figured there would be more- _purple_ you know?" Eames added, tossing his hand up vaguely. Spreading the fingers until Ariadne was forced to take them. Seeming to realize she'd been tricked the same moment Eames tangled their fingers together and brought them up to his face. Rubbing the soft of her knuckles against the grit of his stubble with a contentedly tactile sounding purr.

"Um?" Ariadne supplied helpfully, looking up at them. Apparently at a loss as Eames blinked slowly up at him. Sloe-eyed and flushed. _Receptive._ Like-

Well, _fuck._


	2. Chapter 2

He was up and moving before he was even aware his brain had settled on a course of action. Strangely self conscious of the fact that Eames was following his every move from behind low-slung lids. Not seeming to notice that Ariadne was trying her best to gently extract her fingers. Or that Olivia was trying to get him to focus on her.

He sank down on his haunches beside the forger with a bottle of water, the lid already cracked. Something in him knowing to keep his voice low and level as he held it up. Waiting patiently until the man took it. Part of him wanting to look away as Eames stared up at him like he'd hung the moon and then some. Clearly waiting for instruction. It made something in him clench tight - threatening to swell and whither at the same time as conflicting emotions pulsed under his skin in a chemical-laced gamut.

"Drink this, Eames. Slowly- sip it. I want you to finish all of it, alright?"

The nod he got in response was more a shallow tip of the man's chin into his chest than anything, but he took what he could get. Looking over at Olivia with a meaningful frown as Ariadne scooted backwards in her chair. Moving safely out of grabbing range, but close enough to help if he needed it.

"Not enough purple," Eames muttered to himself, sipping stubbornly. Oblivious to Olivia's growingly frantic noises as she nipped into her bag and pulled out an empty syringe. Drawing a quick half-vial of blood that got a sleepy protest, but nothing more before unfolding herself from her chair and hurrying over to the lab table.

He tilted his head at Ariadne in silent direction. Waiting until she'd gotten up and joined Olivia by the table before he turned back to Eames. Expression as level as he could make it as the forger made a lazy grab for his tie and missed by at least three millimeters.

The fact that he missed at all only drove home the seriousness of whatever they were dealing with. Eames rarely missed.

"Eames, we're going over there to talk for a minute. Something about the job just came up. Is that alright?" he explained, uncertain of what bothered him more. The unfettered softness - hell, the flat out _vulnerability_ \- of the man's expression. Or that way he seemed to be tailoring himself to what was needed almost instinctively. Like it was desperately important that he not upset him like this as Eames gazed up at him trustingly.

He hated everything about it.

It was strange, hating something you hadn't allowed yourself to admit that you secretly wanted. The man's trust. Intimacy. the unfettered moments of openness where the masks and layers crumbled and they could see each other for who they truly were. Not just who they were on the job. _All of it._

But not like this.

Never like this.

"Did I do something wrong?" Eames asked, expression twisting as he looked up at him. Forehead knitting into a worried frown.

"No," he hurried to assure. Holding himself back from resting a hand on the man's shoulder - but only just. "You did well. We just need to talk about the results. I'll be right back."

The smile he got in return was broad and childishly sloppy.

"-kay," Eames agreed, settling back in the stretched out lawn chair with a contented sound. Lazily slurring the syllables as the bemused smile remained.

His heart was in his throat when he turned on Olivia to demand answers.

Only Ariadne beat him to it.

"What the hell was it _supposed_ to do?" Ariadne hissed, suffocating a sneeze into her sleeve as the sound of phlegm rattled loosely from the depths of her throat.

"The usual. Open to suggestion. Easier to convince. Not this!" Olivia snapped, not looking up from her desk as she slipped a slide under the lens of her microscope and peered into it. "I gave him a mild dose. Even by his standards. It should have worn off long before he woke up. Enough that he would have noticed the difference in the dreamscape and been able to tell us how it differed when he was under the influence."

"Well, that clearly didn't happen. So, what went wrong? We need our mark open to suggestion not drugged out of his mind," he pointed out briskly.

"He isn't though," Ariadne pointed out. Gesturing over at perhaps the worst time, where in which Eames had finally noticed the curl of his hard-on and was staring down at his lap with a conflicted expression. Like he knew what he wanted to do, but had the sneaking suspicion he wasn't allowed. "Look at him. He _is_ open to suggestion - easier to convince. Just too easy to convince. The compound worked, it was just way too potent."

"Fix it," he told Olivia bluntly. Forgetting his manners as the red-head rounded on him with an incensed look. Clearly sensing she was being piled upon.

"It isn't that simple," the chemist answered, shaking her head. "It might be better to let it run its course. Any interference could make it worse or-"

He held up a hand.

"You're suggesting we wait this out?"

"That's exactly what I am saying," Olivia snapped. "And if you'd just give me some time I'll be able to give you a better idea of the time-frame we're looking at. At this point bullying me for answers is only going to waste my time. So, if you'd kindly _sod off_ and let me work then-"

"Uh, guys?" Ariadne broke in. Making them both look up as she pointed over to the empty-

_Shit._

Eames was gone.

* * *

They tracked him down in short order. Heart being frantically in his chest from start to finish with all the what ifs and maybes. Considering it a mercy when they died a quick, electric death the moment he found him the men's room. Shirt untucked and playing idly with the taps on the sink like he'd never seen anything quite like them before.

"Well, he clearly can't be left alone," he remarked with forced casualness as they re-entered the room. Like he hadn't just been picturing Eames wandering off and something predictably awful happening to him while he was under the influence. Like walking out into oncoming traffic or becoming an easy target for any one of their combined or individual enemies. Information which Eames played infuriatingly close to his chest. Keeping him largely in the dark about any current or ongoing threats.

"I was just tryin' to get the purple out," Eames protested, as he towed him back towards the vacant chair. "So you wouldn't be mad."

"We aren't mad," he explained patiently. Nudging him down into it as the forger bounced sullenly across the padding. Testing it's give before tipping his head up to flash him a glimpse of low-lashes and red-bitten lips. "We were just worried."

"But I don't want you to be worried. Not about me. Or anything really. You're too pretty to be worried, love. Besides, it makes your face look like _this_ when you do," Eames returned, scrunching his face into an over-exaggerated scowl that was so close to constipated he was sure a lesser man would've been insulted.

But honestly, he was still stalled on the first part.

_Pretty?_

Ariadne giggled into her sleeve.

Eames just grinned like he'd said the funniest thing ever.

His lips twitched, allowing himself the indulgence as Olivia did a couple of quick tests. Fussing over him as Eames seemed to enjoy being in the center of things. Eventually giving him the freedom to pace around the room – strategizing what came next.

* * *

"How long will this take?" he asked after a couple of hours had passed. After Eames had drifted off to sleep and successfully stolen his suit jacket. Holding tight onto the expensive threads like it were some costly prize - even in sleep.

"Hard to say and don- don't give me that look, Arthur," Olivia pressed. Pointing at him with her index finger like a threat.

"I have a date," Ariadne chirped, or as much as one could chirp when their sinuses were clogged. Sounding utterly self-satisfied about it as Eames slowly woke up in the background. Busying himself with taking off his shoes and socks and wriggling his bare toes across the concrete.

"You're a plague victim," he snapped, fastly envisioning an Ariadne-free future where he was going to get stuck with the majority of the-

"I told her I had a cold, but she said she didn't mind a bit of germ warfare if I paid for dinner," she remarked happily. Like it was perhaps the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her.

He sighed, tempted to pinch the bridge of his nose for good measure.

It was grossly domestic and already sounded like it was going to last.

"-besides I'm pretty sure you're right where he wants to be anyway," Ariandne pointed out. Having either the best or the worst timing – he was too bias to make an impartial decision at this point – considering Eames was making a bee line for him. Smile ridiculously wide as he made noise about showing him something on Olivia's laptop. Filling the air with the furious sound of at least five different dog toys squeaking. Giving him a preview of his evening as he wondered off-hand if rolling his eyes was completely beneath his dignity before Eames dragged him across the room, babbling triumphantly.

Right.

_Anyway._

* * *

He'd gotten Eames squashed into the car before he realized he didn't have the faintest clue what came next.

"What do you think," he muttered, more to himself than anything as he drummed his hands on the steering wheel. Secretly pleased when he looked in the mirror and caught a glimpse of Eames plucking unhappily at the seat belt in the back of the car. Safely out of reach. "My place or yours?"

He had about three seconds to inwardly curse the choice of phrase before Eames was grinning at him toothily - like a predator who'd decided to play with his food before eating it.

"Why Arthur, all you ever had to do was ask."

It was so like Eames he nearly did a double take. Hoping, for a brief, pathetically fleeting moment that the drug had worn off and when he wrenched himself around he'd see- but of course he didn't.

He'd never been the kind of person fate was particularly kind too.

If such a thing even existed.

"Yours it is," he snarled, putting the car into drive a little more forcefully than was strictly necessary. Not getting nearly enough satisfaction out of it when Eames' chest snapped back against the seat belt with a surprised little hiccup he wished he had the heart to mock him for.


	3. Chapter 3

Coming to Eames apartment had been a mistake he'd only realized fully in retrospect.

Privacy was not only paramount in terms of their personal security. But a concept most in the business placed great emphasis on considering a good portion of their job involved being inside each other's heads. Eames was no different. Indeed, perhaps out of all of them, save himself, Eames policed his personal privacy with an iron hand. He was quite sure that even Dom didn't know the half of it when it came to the man's background. Both in the business and outside it.

It'd taken him a few meetings to understand how the man operated. Because while Eames never seemed to shut up, it was exceedingly rare for him to talk about anything more personal than a lost bet or the loaded dice he'd caught someone using at a game table in Madrid. His open affability and constant flirtation was merely a smokescreen. Once he'd figured how the man worked he'd almost been impressed. _Almost._

Which only made what he'd done worse. He'd let his frustration get the better of him. Taking advantage of the situation without even thinking about the consequences. And for someone who guarded his privacy as doggedly as Eames, the loss of even an inch of it without his consent was a violation he would likely have to answer for in the very near future.

It was a discomfort he'd never counted on experiencing.

Especially with Eames.

He was about to say that he'd changed his mind. To turn them around and just rent a hotel for the night. But before he could get the words out, Eames was shuffling inside with a happy sound of recognition. Wavering on his feet as he looked around for a long moment before toeing off his shoes and socks again and curling his feet into the carpet threads. Apparently not at all fussed as he followed him inside a bit more cautiously. Taking in the furnishings, all surprisingly tasteful considering the man's eclectic taste, but completely spartan of any real personality. Just what he'd expect from someone who lived more or less off the grid.

Relief was an emotion he experienced in inches.

Still feeling guilty, but less so now that he realized this was just a safe house, nothing more.

Eames flopped onto the couch with a soft sigh. Somehow managing to be absolutely indecent about it with all his clothes still on. It was a reality he wasn't exactly sure what to do with once it'd been internalized. At least not until his attention was caught by him stretching out across the cushions. Every muscle broadcasting pliable and loose as Eames stared at the blank television screen intently.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Keeping the skin pressed together in a brutal grip that threatened to dry out the corners of his eyes before he counted to ten inside his head and forced himself to relax.

"Eames?" he asked after a moment.

"Mmmmm?"

"Is it alright if I have a look around?" he questioned, shoulders heavy with the weight of a slow building tension. The kind that always followed him when he wasn't abreast of the layout of the room or building he was in. "Make sure this place is safe?"

"Mmmmhmmm."

It was the only reply Eames seemed willing to give, so he decided to take it as both affirmation and permission as he trotted down the hall. Considering it a form of professional pride when he didn't linger. Doing a quick circuit of the apartment. Noting the blind spots, the exits, the rickety old fire escape he could actually picture Eames being foolish enough to use.

He paused when he noticed the empty dog bowl and pet bed tucked into the far corner of the open concept kitchen. Sinking down on his haunches as he ran a finger through the film of dust that'd collected inside the stainless steel.

"You have a dog?" he questioned, more surprised that the words actually left his lips than anything. After all, the answer seemed to be obvious. The dust. The lack of dog hair and dog smells. All the dog toys quietly collected into the same corner rather than strewn about the house.

There was a thump from the main room before Eames shuffled after him. Stride ranging but hesitant - like a child with secret - as he appeared around the corner with sad eyes and hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Not anymore," the forger answered.

The look on Eames' face immediately made him uncomfortable. Realizing he'd stumbled into something keenly personal and raw without even being aware of it.

"Owning a dog is a privilege, yeah? I need to earn that back somehow. Dogs- well they're something else. They'll die for you without even a blink. And my old brute of a girl? She was- well, she was good dog."

He took a step forward like a reflex.

"Eames, you don't have to," he started, fighting back something that was threatening to stick in the back of his throat. One fist clenched tight behind his back. The amusement had worn off. Leaving the air stale and quietly terrible. It had him on the defensive rather than the offensive. In a place where his hackles were threatening to rise. Unable to stop making the moment about him and his discomfort when it really had nothing to do with him at all.

"I _want_ to," Eames replied stubbornly. Knuckling the back of his head as his eyes sheened themselves with something that looked horrifying close to tears.

"You won't, not tomorrow anyway," he replied firmly. Lips settling into a firm line across his face as he cursed Olivia. Eames. Himself. Their fussy medical nightmare of a mark. _All of it._ If he'd ever wanted the man to open up – which he was neither confirming or denying at this point – he wouldn't have want it to be like this. When Eames was vulnerable, happily broken open and-

"What does tomorrow have to do with anything? I'm still going to feel it aren't I?" Eames returned, sleepily genuine but with a tint of sadness he found he could barely stand when push came to shove. Allowing the forger to get within touching distance as he shook his head. "What's the point of keeping it in when it isn't going to change nuthin'? It's my fault she isn't here. Maybe I should be allowed to own to that. Especially to you."

He didn't know how to explain that they weren't like that. That they didn't talk about that kind of thing. About things that weren't the job or Eames' easy flirtation. He wanted to try but his jaw was wired shut. Half-choked on a half dozen attempts before Eames plodded forward. Making a mockery out of his good intentions as he nudged him with his shoulder. Companionable and quiet as they stood side by side in the middle of Eames' dusty living room. Leaning into him the slightest of bits, as if _he_ was the one that needed comfort.

* * *

Eventually food became a convenient distraction and he wandered into the kitchen to see what there was to forage. Personally, he didn't have high hopes. Eames didn't particularly strike him as a culinary proficient and by the nature of their job having anything close to a functioning kitchen was generally a waste of money.  
 _  
God knows he lived on take out._

High quality take-out.

But take-out none the less.

There was a scrap of paper on Eames' kitchen table. Sloppy-quick names with phone numbers scribbled into the margins as Eames wandered in behind him like an inconvenient shadow. And just like that the words were out of his mouth before he could think about it. Brain still hardwired to be on point for snappy retorts and prideful silences as far as Eames was concerned.

"Piere? Really, Eames- I thought you had better taste than that," he remarked disdainfully. Tapping briskly at the bit of note paper like the sight of it was insulting. Which, in many way, it was. Piere was a rake. He was a bullhead asshole he'd only worked with twice and the second time had been under duress.

Eames came around the other side of the table grinning - slit-eyed and joyful.

"You should hear what he says about _you_."

He sniffed, unconcerned. Anything that came out of Piere's mouth had to be washed thoroughly with bleach at least once before being considered seriously. As if he would be interested in-

"But that isn't what _I_ think," Eames added playfully. Bouncing on the balls of his feet like Piere's very name didn't equate affront.

"No?" he uttered, host to the ghost of an noncommittal shrug. Opening up the fridge like his hands needed the distraction. Only just remembering what he'd come into the kitchen to do in the first place. "Let me guess…you think I have no imagination then?"

"No, you don't. Otherwise we would've had a shag ages ago," Eames shot back breezily. "More than a shag, hopefully. I mean- lord knows I've been trying to get us there for _years_ , Arthur. Thanks for noticing."

He closed the refrigerator with a shuddering slam. Clipping his knuckles as Eames wandered towards one of the cupboards. Pulling out a couple cans of soup before pushing him aside and opening the refrigerator. Uncapping the half liter of milk and giving it a hopeful sniff before shrugging _. Good enough._

"Besides," Eames continued. The change in subject nearly giving him whip-lash as the man skipped backwards and picked up their previous conversation exactly where it'd left off. "I told him no. He wanted me for a job a couple weeks ago- and three or four other times before that. Big ones. Big numbers. Big money, but I told him to sod off."

"What- why?"

Eames just snorted. Looking at him like he was being particularly stupid before twirling away idly so they were on opposite sides of the breakfast nook. Planting his hands on the dusty granite as he leveled him with that look of his. The one that was so loaded and daring. The one that was as warm as it was strong – only this time it was twinkling with something far deeper than mere flirtation.

"Why do you think, Arthur?"

The plush of his lower lip caught between his teeth before he could stop the action. Feeling remarkably like they were teetering on the cusp of something before he cleared his throat and tried to turn the tables.

"Because he's a piece of shit?"

Eames grinned, palms spread across the granite.

"Nope, but yeah- he is."

"Money no good?" he guessed, finding himself unconsciously mirroring the man's stance. Right hip cocked as Eames' face set itself in an expression of serenity-infused mirth.

"Nope," the forger sing-songed, sounding quite pleased with himself. Clearly buoyed by this new game he'd discovered.

"The weather wasn't to your liking?" he offered blandly. Grip firming on the counter-corner as the precipice edge in his mind's eye yawned wide and misty-open. His tone clearly lost on Eames' better judgement when the man just laughed in response to his deadpan.

"You're unbelievable you know that, Arthur?" Eames hummed, shaking his head as his hair flopped free of it's usual style. Mussed and soft and so utterly _touchable_ that- "Why do you think I stay? I used to just be on call, remember darling? I don't stay because of the money or the work, Arthur. I stay because of the common denominator."

"Which is?"

Eames smile was softer this time.

Kinder.

Sadder.

Sober.

" _You."_

* * *

They ate dinner on the back patio. Breathing in the thinning city fumes before the sky rumbled and opened up high above them. _Plink-plinking_ fat drops into their empty soup bowls and prematurely cooling the tea as their mugs steamed fitfully.

"It's getting cold," he observed after a long moment where neither of them made any move to clean up and head back inside. Captured by the understated beauty of the moment and perhaps even their place in it as Eames' head lolled. Eyes mostly closed as the man hummed contentedly.

"I like the rain," the forger answered. Patting him firmly on the thigh as the muscles firmed and jumped before relaxing again.

And for some reason that seemed to settle it somehow. Finding himself strangely content under the warm press of the man's hand as the heat from their mugs hazed mist into the saturated air. For people who regularly entered people's dreams for a living, it was the most intimate thing he could remember doing in a very long time.

* * *

It wasn't until later that he realized the slow, creeping chill didn't actually register until Eames drifted off to sleep beside him. A reality that was inevitably linked to the moment the man's hand – calloused and deceptively heavy - slipped off his thigh with a gentle sound. Like the weight alone had been holding back the brunt of it.

He thought about that for a long time.

* * *

By the time morning rolled around, he'd already made himself breakfast and taken a quick shower - carefully not looking in any of the drawers or medicine cabinets save for a brief hunt for a spare towel and face cloth - before he heard Eames start to stir.

There was a smile on his lips, unquestionable and honest as he set about making tea. Allowing him the dignity of getting himself sorted out before heading in to check on him as a truly piteous sound echoed down the hall. Lips threatening to curl, chewing distracted at the corners to keep from laughing, as a chorus of unhappy noises highlighted the forger's distress.

"Good morning, Eames," he opened as he strode into the room with a steaming mug of tea and a tall glass of water. Enjoying the sudden flare from the tangle of sheets as Eames went scrambling. Instinctively diving for a gun that wasn't there, or possibly even clothes. Which - at this point were still littered down the hall, exactly where Eames left them. Pretending to not to notice the mad scrambling going on beside him as he set the glass on the bedside table along with two painkillers. Navigating around the room with a familiarity he could easily get used to as Eames squawked and teetered to port.

He ended up startling the man so badly that all he saw was the blood-shot whites of tired eyes before Eames flailed. Arms wind-milling for balance as the sheets slipped off his chest and thighs and-

Eames rolled clear off the bed. Groaning loudly as he hit the floor with a reverberating thud. One leg still tangled in the bed sheets - the only part of him that was still visible - as he settled himself in the chair beside the bed. Giving his tea a careful sip before setting it aside. Having to put quite a lot of effort into not letting his amusement show as a building sort of want threatened to warm him from the inside out.

There was a meaningful silence after that. One that allowed him sit back and grin to himself in the relative safety of the mattress top and all the recently vacated Eames-free space.

"Ugh, _fuck-_ I feel like I got hit by a lorry," Eames muttered. Sounding a whole lot like his face was squashed into the floor as he shook his head and smothered a laugh. Rising primly and smoothing the creases on his day-old slacks before sitting down on the far corner of the bed that smelled thick with him. Settling in to wait as Eames grunted into the carpet. Slowly levering himself upright until he was peering over the edge of the mattress. Face pillow-creased and stubble-charming. Hair an impossible mess of spikes and unfettered cowlicks as something in the center of his chest expanded with a pleasant rush of sensation.

It turned out they had _a lot_ to discuss.

**Author's Note:**

> Reference:
> 
> * Nodus Tollens: "the realization that the plot of your life doesn't make sense to you anymore. That although you thought you were following the arc of the story, you keep finding yourself immersed in passages you don't understand, that don't even seem to belong in the same genre—which requires you to go back and reread the chapters you had originally skimmed to get to the good parts, only to learn that all along you were supposed to choose your own adventure."


End file.
